


Blood and Roses

by MizzFury



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Character Death, F/M, M/M, Multi, Partner Swapping, Slow Build, Swearing, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-10 04:46:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizzFury/pseuds/MizzFury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For thousands of years vampires have roamed the earth, and a war between the undead and their hunters has been waged.  One night in present day NYC, Nasir, a 1000 year old vampire, walks into a seedy bar and meets a guy called Agron........ (cant say much more because the plot bunnies will kill me, Gladiator style). Basically this is a love story, just with fangs and blood and torture!  The first couple of chapters have some typos (sorry). If anyone wants to beta PM me ;).  This is actually now going to be 1 "Book" in a Quartet. All stories are planned out already ;)  See if you can guess who the others will be about.</p>
<p>update: the style changes in chapter 3 due to a slight reworking of the story ;p</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dark Desire

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of foul language in this chapter. Talk about underage sex. Derogatory terms to women. Some of this is from a vamps pov, and sorry they are just not nice! So if this isnt your thing turn away now;)
> 
>  
> 
> This is my first ever fic so constructive crit is welcomed and much needed. This is has not been seen by a beta!

Nasir looked around the dim interior of the bar. He liked the shadowed corners where it was dimly lit. Anything could happen under the cover of the shadowed dark, and frequently did, if he was any judge of the current crowd. It was a good place to find a hook up for fun…or for other things. Everyone was nameless, They were all johns or brads, Milling around in the smoky recesses , turning away from whatever they pretended to be during the daylight hours. To forget the girlfriends,the boyfriends, the wives and the children sleeping safely at home. Allowing themselves the freedom to embrace their most secret desires, finding anonymity amidst the writhing throng on the dance floor. 

It had been at least 50 years since he had been in New York, matters with the Lycans having kept him close to Bordeux. On previous vists to the city, Nasir had preferred to hunt in the seedier bars. They afforded him a level of anonymity that you just couldn't get in any of the more mainstream bars and clubs of New Yorks nightlife. This particular bar was relativity new, however much the interior screamed otherwise. The ripped leather booths, threadbare velvet drapes and peeling paint work evidence of it's abuse and misuse. This was not a bar one came to revel in ambiance, among fine company. Nasir had been almost reluctant to enter when veiwing the gruff, meaty looking bouncers, with their ripped Rob Zombie shirts, and not so discreetly hidden knuckle dusters. Had it not been for Crixus' errand he would have turned upon his heel to search for something that didn't smell quite so strongly of piss and vomit by the front entrance. Now, having experienced the heady smell of sweat and desperation, mixed with sex and lust, that permeated the stale air inside, he new he had discovered his new favorite haunt. 

Maybe being Crixus lapdog had it's advantages. Having been commanded with following a young woman of rare beauty, "Until further Fucking Notice", she had led him to this place. In fact she came here every night not leaving until just before dawn, and was currently ensconced in the back room behind the bar. Nasir had no idea who she was or what she did here, and didn't really give a fuck either. He just followed his orders like the good fucking puppy he had sold himself to be. To be honest, Crixus had given him shittyer jobs in the past, so trailing a blood bag around all night was not a massive hardship. It certainly beat looking after Crixus hell hounds. That had been a horrifying decade and one which still elicited shudders to this night. Crixus refused to impart to Nasir why he wanted her followed, and if Nasir was honest he didn't really give a fuck about that either. There was no love lost between them, but there was a mutual need. Every coven needed a leader and every vampire need the protection of a coven. There were too many hunters, their numbers seeming to never dwindle no matter how many were slaughted, and the fact that they were almost equal in strength, and rarely hunted alone, meant that it had became a necessity, rather than a choice, for vampires to form groups. He had found that out the hard way. Nasir made his way around the groups of bodies, and absently stroked the long thin scar that ran down from the corner of his left eye to the bottom of his cheek. 

Fucking hunters! the one who had given him that particular souvenir was long dead, Nasir having 'render head from fucking shoulders', and relishing every moment. skin and tendons sliced through by his claws, like a hot knife through butter. Blood spraying, as the jugular artery was severed. He had happily bathed in the blood all day, whilst the sun was high, drinking it and painting his body red, finding amusement in painstakingly peeling the skin off the carcass with his claws. That which would be used, in a particularly wonderful surprise for when the hunters brotherhood arrived. Which they would eventually. With that knowledge in mind, at nights fall, he had set off to find a coven and offer his particular services in return for their protection. Unfortunately, Crixus ' coven had been the first he had come across, and Nasir, being fully aware that the dead hunter' brotherhood where trailing him no more than a day away, had felt a pressing need to swear fealty. So the deal had been struck, and held true today more that 500 years later.

Now in the low lights of the club, while Crixus human bitch was doing whatever the fuck she did out back, Nasir hunted. He scanned the crowds, dismissing men as if perusing a menu. Just when he had decided on a particularly twinky looking boy standing at the bar, his attention was caught by a man standing to the right of the boy. He was tall, well built,long legs encased in midnight jeans with chains trailing from the pocket over the tempting swell of his perfectly tight arse, and up towards his belt loops. A tight Grey top stretched over his broadly muscled back and shoulders. Holy hell his biceps were massive. Nasir could feel his mouth watering, fangs elongating to graze his bottom lip. He wasn't the type Nasir normally preyed on. After all Nasir did like to fuck them whilst he fed. And Nasir was most defiantly someone who topped. No fucking human was gonna fuck him. And in Nasirs experience big guys, built like brick shit houses didn't like to bottom. And although Nasir' strength was such that he could easily force himself on even the strongest human, It kinda took the fun out of the fucking. So yeah, Nasir had cultivated a taste for slender boys that were Barely legal. Even better if they weren't quite legal. The younger the blood the sweeter it was and the more lasting the strength gained.

Nasir returned his attention to the boy, or at least he tried to. He really did, but his eyes kept skipping over the silky smooth locks of the youth over to the harsh military style cut of the giant. The tendons in the guys neck moved as the guy talked with the woman behind the bar. She was pretty in a blond viking way, If you liked your bitches with too much attitude and not enough sense to keep fucking mouth shut, unless giving particular services. She had long braids that fell around her pale face. She wore no makeup, but smiled at the giant, touching his arm every now and then in between wiping glasses. Fucking whore, Nasir seethed, Did she not have anything to do, Like do her fucking job! 

Nasir felt his whole body tense, about to stalk over to the bar and......what?. Pulling himself up short, the realization that he had been about to rip the blond bitch to shreds, over a guy whos face he hadnt even seen, had him trembling. His reaction to the giant was visceral. It was as if every nerve in his body sang out for him, every fiber of his existence was knitting itself tightly, weaving into the fabric of......him! Based on what? Arms that you could litrelly sink your teeth in. Fuck this. Fuck whatever strange fucked up emotion he was feeling. Fuck the twink and fuck the giant. Nasir may not have know what was happening, but he knew when he stumbled on trouble and this was trouble. Trouble that he didn't fucking need. He would wait for the human whore, then trail her back to the boring block of apartments she lived in, as he had done every night for the past week. Then he would stop off before dawn and feed on the first human he came across. Man, woman, child. It didnt fucking matter. then in the cold chill of day, when he was settled far below the earth, shielded from the light he would think. And he would decide what this all meant, if anything.

Feeling as uncomfortably hot, as only someone whose body temperature was slightly above freezing could, he undid the top 2 buttons of his shirt. He began to retreat back towards the exit to wait for the woman, when everything stopped. He swore that if his heart still beat, in that instance it would have stopped all over again. The giant had turned around, leaning nonchalantly against the bar, and was now slowly surveying the rest of the room, allowing Nasir to see his face for the first time. It was warm, friendly, open, lips twisted into a slight smile. The light creases around the corners of his eyes, showed he smiled often. If the smile was devastating the eyes were even more so. A bright piercing green, complimenting his light tan complexion and dark hair. Those eyes stopped and zeroed in on Nasir, the slight smile changing into a full on, Fuck me yeah, grin.

Nasir held what little breath he still used. Fuck Crixus whore and his command. Nasir wasn't going anywhere tonight, except wherever the giant was going.


	2. Into the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So chapter 2 much earlier that intended. I was so overwhealmed by the response from chapter , I got inspired. Again, still not seen a beta. constructive crit welcomed. Quite a bit of swearing as always, and a bit of smut. I have never written smut in my life!!!! I blushed the entire time. Enjoy!!! xox
> 
> ps I do not speak German so plz blame Google translate for any mistakes ;p;p
> 
> Update: A big thank you to DPR, who corrected the bad Google translation for Saxa in this chapter ;)) Gratitude!

Nasir moved through the room, pushing through the hot press of bodies as they danced and gyrated around him. Reaching the bar, he unceremoniously nudged the twink out of the way,sending him sprawling into someone equally insignificant, no longer giving him a passing thought. The boy glanced over his shoulders, insult hot on his lips. But one quick, dark, look from Nasir had him scrambling away. The barmaid wiped down the bar, pausing in front of him, and raised her eyebrows.  
"Was willist du?"  
So the viking Cunt didn't speak English, great, and Nasir very much doubted she spoke his native tongue. While he knew she was speaking German he had no idea what the fuck she said. It could have been let me blow you while i make a cocktail and show you how i can shoot ping pong balls from various orifices. Although by her stony expression, Nasir doubted her thoughts were quite so pleasant.  
"Was willist du, dumm kopf!" She rolled her eyes clearly irritated, whilst drumming her fingers on the bar.  
Nasir glanced to his left. The giant hadn't turned round or spared him a glance since he had arrived, which was unsettling in itself. Nasir was not used to being unnoticed. Now it seemed his shit eating grin was growing with each second.  
"She wants to know what you want to drink little man", the giant continued to look out at the mass of people heaving on the dance floor. His voice was melodic, deep, resonating, with a trace of an accent that Nasir couldn't quite place.  
"She also thinks your an idiot" he added, turning around and leaning his forearms back on the bar. Nasir hadn't thought a grin that big could get any bigger, but he was wrong.  
"you speak ......?"  
"German? Yeah, Pretty good, seeing as that's where I'm from" the giant faced Nasir fully now, pressed close so they coould hear each other over the thumping music. Nasir shuddered inwardly at the thrumming base as it reverberated through his body.It was some god awful metal shit, stuff not even good enough to massacre to! Now Vivaldi, Nasir remembered happily, he knew how to write music that put the art back in mass murder, rape and genocide. Good times!

This close up Nasir was able to see how full the other mans lips were, the bottom one slightly fuller than the top. The fine lines where his skin was weathered, and the dark shadow covering his firm jaw, and his slightly snaggle toothed smile. His was a face that told of years lived, of hardships and of joy. He was no green boy as Nasir had previously thought. His mouth watered.

"So what are you having............?"  
Nasir blinked out of his daze. He was Fucking staring at the German like he was a blood god. Gods, what the fuck was wrong with him. Yes he was hot, but still he was the bottom of the food chain. Nasir would do well to remember, that before the dawn, the body before him would be thoroughly fucked and drained dry. Maybe he would pluck those beautiful eyes as a memento. Gods, Nasir thought, he was getting sentimental in his advancing years.

"Ill have what ever your having" Nasir smiled back. The giant spoke fast and fluently to the barmaid, who yet again rolled her eyes and pulled two beer glasses from under the bar.  
"Agron" the giant turned back to Nasir.  
"What?" Nasir looked slightly puzzled. He knew he hadn't been in NYC for a good 50 years, but surly the English language hadn't changed that much,  
The giant laughed " that's my name...Agron"  
Understanding dawned in Nasirs eyes quickly followed by embarrassment that a pretty face had made him lose fucking mind, swiftly chased by gratitude that none of the coven had been witness to Nasir acting no better than a addlepated lack wit. Agron raised his eyebrows. "Nasir...my name is Nasir" At those words Nasir saw Agrons brows draw low and a flash of emotion pass behind his eyes, for but a split second. But before he could ruminate on that thought, the large grin was back in place bigger than before.

Two beers where plonked loudly down in front of them.  
"So, corny as it may sound, what brings you here." Agron glanced around the the writhing mass of bodies spasming out on the floor, then back at Nasir, "You kinda don't seem like your really into the thrash metal scene"  
Nasir glanced down at his perfectly tailored black trousers and black shirt, then back up at Agron. OK, so yeah, Agron looked like he could head bang with the best of them, while Nasir looked like he drank fucking tea out of teacups and played a mean game of polo.  
"Appearances can be deceptive" Nasir replied  
"Cant they just" Agron looked nasir up and down, taking in the neat tailored clothes and artfully tide back hair, the lust in his eyes barely veiled. Most vampires took pride in how they looked, well except for Nasirs coven, but they were Gauls so they didn't really count. Crixus liked to dress well, but all the suits from saville row in the world couldn't hide the cold blooded fuck that he really was, and the rest of them would wear loincloths if they could get away with it. Apart from Rhaskos who had regaled Nasir many a day of his dreams of starting up a nudist branch of the coven. 

Nasir on the other hand was a master in blending in whilst standing out. He was charming when he needed to be and utterly ruthless when called upon. He always look civilized, even in the midst of carnage. Nasir liked to make sure he was always well presented. He never felt right ripping out a victims entrails unless he was wearing a suit. In short you never saw him coming until he had clawed out your beating heart and shoved it in front of your face. Nasir liked to think that he was classy like that.

"Well I guess no reason you cant come here for other .....pleasures" Agron grinned, and picking up his glass, downed his beer. Nasir hungrily looked at his throat muscles moving, this adams apple bobbing with every swallow. His fangs ached to run along the thick, strong collum and pierce the hotly pulsing artery, feeling the heat from the gushing blood fill his mouth whilst he released his seed deep inside the Germans body. Agron slammed the empty glass down on the counter and pointedly looked down at Nasirs still full glass.  
"Not thirsty?" he smiled.  
Nasir shook his head. If he drank that he would be sick within minuets, and that would make him vulnerable. Nasir slowly looked Agron up and down, making sure to eye fuck him thoroughly " I'm thirsty for something all together different, If your of the mind.......?" he gestured toward Agron, one eyebrow artfully raised.

Agron grinned that shit eating grin of his. "The toilets are usually full.....but if you dont mind an audience..."  
"No", Nasir interuppted, "I was thinking the ally behind the club looks a little more private....."  
Agron continued to grin " one sec " He turned to the barmaid who was scowling as she made a couple of cocktails.  
"Saxa, sag Spartacus ich mache eine Pause draußen", Saxa nodded and turned back to her task.  
"What did you say to her? " Nasir asked, making a mental note to learn German before the week was out. There was something in the sentence that was familiar, that he couldn't quite put his finger on.  
" Just told her to tell the boss I was Taking a break out back"  
"You work here" Nasir was surprised  
" In a manner of speaking. Mainly I'm just friends with the owner, we go way back"  
As they made there way out round the back of the bar, Nasir started to feel uneasy. There was something not right. But fuck the gods if he knew what it was. Nasir followed agron into the dark alley. Every sense he had told him that there was a danger near, but the pull he felt to Agron was so strong that he almost didn't care. But only almost. 

Fuck this, he decided, forget fucking, quick clean kill and feed, there was an unknown risk here and he didn't like it no matter how hot Agron was or how much he wanted to be inside him and make him moan. Wait? Make him moan, when the fuck did he ever care if his evening meal got their rocks off...........?

Before he could process that thought, Agron spun round and pushed Nasir up against the brick wall, his open mouth pushing hotly against his neck, tonguing and sucking at the throbbing tendon there. His strength surprised Nasir, he had never met a human so strong. A fleeting thought tried to push its way to the front of his brain, but he couldn't grasp it, so turned on by feel of Agrons body pushing hard against his. His thigh wedged between Nasirs, pressing on the heart of him, where he was heavy, hard and wanting.

Nasir moaned. The feelings pushing through his body. Feeling a level of want he had never experienced in all his 1000 years of being dead, nor in his 25 years of being alive. Emotions he long thought dead began to surface and underneath it all the want, the hot pounding need to belong overwhelmed him.

Agron moved back a hairs breadth, confusion etched deep on his face. "Wha.....I don't understand....." he raised a shaky hand to push back a strand of Nasirs hair that had fallen from its Que.Bright green eyes met dark brown.  
Nasir moved an unsteady hand up to caress the rough line of his jaw, feeling the plesent sensation of stuble prickling his skin. Gods what he wouldn't give to have stubble burn all over his body. "Kinda makes 2 of us" he breathed, eyes wide.  
" I shouldn't want you" Agron whispered to himself.  
Nasir blinked the lust filled fog starting to dissipate.  
Agron looked at war with himself, but all the time he continued to rub up against Nasir, hot and hard. There mouths so close, neither knew whose breath was whose.

Suddenly a noise rent the heavy fog of lust surrounding them. Nasir pushed Agron away, and fished out his phone from his pocket. The name he least wanted to see flashed up. Fucking crixus!  
"I need to take this" nasir looked at agron who still seemed confused and more than a little dazed. He would deal with him later. Crixus was not one to be kept waiting. Nasir pushed away from the wall and flipped the phone up.  
"sup crix" he injected as much disgust and irreverence into his voice as he could, he always did when he talked to the Gaul. It never failed to piss Crixus off that though he had Nasir over fucking coals, he couldnt make him bow and scrape.  
" Nasir where the fuck are you" crixus growled down the line. "We will be in new york before sunrise, I have been awaiting your reports for the past fucking week. Make sure you are at the mansion for when I arrive. and not buried beneath where you still insist on sleeping like the fucking Syrian savage you are".  
Nasir huffed " I have been doing what you told me to you dumb fuck" he turned his back on where Agron was still looking at him with wide eyes.  
He switched to Gaulish " Iv been following your stupid cunt every night like you ordered"  
" where has she been" Crixus was impatient as always.  
"the same place the stupid bitch always goes, some fucking dive bar" Nasir glanced back at agron who seemed to be standing taller, having apperared to have gathered himself  
" what bar?" Crixus rasped  
" I dont fucking know has a shit stupid name" Nasir grabbed the back of his neack and rubbed. Crixus always brought him out in fucking hives.  
" what the fuck is it called Nasir"  
" loodas, no wait......... LUDUS", Nasir started to pace. There was a sharply in drawn breath down the phone. "  
"Get out Nasir. Get out now." Crixus raged down the phone. "Your in a fucking brotherhood den, you stupid fuck!" Nasir looked back to Agron, eyes wide. Agrons lustful smile was gone, instead replaced with a snarl so feral, that every hair on Nasirs body raised.  
Nasir turned and readied himself to fight, hissing and unsheathing his claws. His eyes turned fully black as he released the rage within himself.  
" Fucking Gaul always was smart" Agron snarled in Gaulish.  
Nasir barely had time to see Agron pull is fist back, then everything went Dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, did anyone see that coming???? what will happen to Nasir, and will we ever see Rhaskos fulfill his dream of becoming Lord of a nudist covern.....TBC!


	3. Ghosts From the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK, so this fic was supposed to be fairly light and fluffy. It had minimal plot. However, whilst re watching the first season of Spartacus, the plot bunnies came and took me hostage and made me dig a little deeper into the story. The tone is now slightly darker and the writing style has changed a bit. At some point i will probably rewrite the first 2 chapters to fit in with the overall style, however their content will remain unchanged. I really hope you enjoy. Constructive crit is welcomed, and as always (because i don't have one) this has not seen a beta ;p xox
> 
> ps: the boat was a real prison ship. And yes I know planes would be quicker, but in my world Vamps like travelling by sea. ;)) (well, except for Gannicas. You know he would so have a private jet) ;))

The moon hung high in the sky overlooking pier 57, casting a ghostly glow over The TEMERAIRA, where it lay docked after its long voyage. the storm raged, waves crashing against tested metal, rocking the converted prison ship that had housed the Gaulish coven as they traveled from over the seas. Lightning flashed overhead, thunder shaking the heavens. However, the storm was but a pale reflection of the seething anger that permeated the air deep within the bowels of the ship, where the Demon lord, known as The Undefeated Gaul, awaited news of his prey.

The phone hit the wall besides Rhaskos head, splintering into a shower of plastic and metal. Crixus, slammed his palms hard against the dark mahogany desk before him, with barely leashed rage..  
"The Syrian does not hold good news?" Rhaskos queried.  
Crixus raised his face, eyes narrowing, breath heaving, 'The fucking Syrian shit has walked into a trap by the hunters" Rhaskos merely raised an eyebrow. He liked the Syrian well enough, they had partaken of much carnage at times. The Syrian new how to eviscerate prey with a relish only matched by the hordes of slavering Gauls that comprised the coven. The only difference being, that whereas most of the Gauls would bite and butcher their prey in a frenzy, the little Syrian knew how to draw it out. He often made his victims last days. Each night rising to inflict new pain upon there flesh, and destroy what fragile hold their minds still had. It was an art, and one that Rhaskos had grown fond of watching over the years. However, he knew there was no love lost between the Syrian and his Lord. If it hadn't been for the particular talent Nasir had been gifted with on his awakening, Crixus would have severed the demons head his from shoulders the night he had come to swear fealty.  
"The Syrian will be dead by dawn then. " it was statement devoid of malice.

Crixus pushed himself away from his desk and walked to stand in front of Rhaskos, pausing only to pull open a draw and pick up a dagger, the make of which,was Thracian. Plain, Sharpe as the day it was forged, silver inlaid over steel to keep it strong and true. Though Crudely made, with a red leather pommel worn with age, the many notches that scarred the handle, showed the blades true worth if not its real meaning.  
"Unlikely", Crixus paused in front of Rhaskos, blade raised, allowing the light from the low lit lamps to catch the blades trailing point. Examining it, he turned it over in his callused palms, as if looking for an answer he believed to be hidden underneath its dull shine. "They will keep him alive, at least until they believe they have all information he holds"  
"Then the little shit shall be alive for many more nights then. He will not talk. His cock is of a size." Rhaskos laughed. " More than enough time to retrieve him if he is unable to secure his own release."  
"maybe, maybe not. But of little concern to me at this time" Crixus countered. "The Syrian imparted information that worries." he paused to bend low to the table holding the blade closer to one of the oil lamps burning there. "He had been trailing her to a bar. The very place in which he was captured."  
Rhaskos remained undaunted, "Then we shall retrieve her too"  
Crixus gaze moved from the blade, staring hard into Rhaskos impassive face, he straightened. "The bar was called Ludus"  
Rhaskos eyes widened. "You think that……." he trailed off, visibly swallowing, bile rising bitter in his throat.  
Crixus narrowed his eyes. "I would not put it past that Thracian fuck. He was long a thorn in my side."  
"Yet we have had no word of him since Damascus, some 600 years past." Rhaskos continued, eyes becoming fixed upon the blade in Crixus hand "It can not be possible that he still lives."  
" And yet it may…..I did not drain him, I had not the time……the German shit saw to that". A memory came fleeting from the dark recess of his mind. The clash of steel, followed by the bitter tang of blood as his fangs bit deep. Only to be robbed of final victory by the angry boy, his metal piercing cold flesh, his grief and passion lending strength to his blows. Hot fire had been his judgment rained down on them, and he had believed it had swallowed them with its flaming jaws. Suddenly Crixus smiled. He grabbed Rhaskos by the neck, pulling him close. "Do not worry brother. If it is he then he shall have the reckoning he deserves, and what was started shall be finished" Crixus grabbed the handle of the dagger tightly, making his way to the door. "If it is not then we shall lay waste to all who keep me from my prize, either way on the next rising of the moon we shall bathe in the blood of our enemies" the flickering light cast shadows across his face, transforming it from the face of a man to that of a born killer.  
"Come, I would have words with our guest." he turned back, hand upon the door, to smile, his fangs visibly elongating, his eyes flooding with the blackness that heralded the release of the demon within him. "Let us see if we can't make our Thracian bird sing, and learn of what the whore sees" 

The pink of dawn started to light the sky as the last few stragglers made there way from outside the LUDUS. The doors were locked and the bar now lay in darkness. To anyone who frequented the place, or happened to walk past, it looked like any normal bar, the same as any of the multitude of dive bars that covered the sprawling streets of the east village. However, the darkened windows and red neon sign hid its true purpose. beneath the back rooms of the bar lay a network of tunnels and rooms which was a refuge to the brotherhood of Batiatus. The brotherhood, a society born out of need to abate the growing undead.  
The compound was large, housing up to 60 of the brotherhood at any one time. 

Far below street level Agron repeatedly hit the punching bag in the training room. The customized ventilation system kept the room cool, still sweat dripped down Agrons back, drenching his shirt and making it stick to the sculpted muscles as they flexed with each move. The rhythmic pounding of fist to canvas, was only interrupted by his harsh pants as he allowed the aggression to flow from him, trying to get his thoughts and body under some semblance of control. The memory of the vampire under his hands, his mouth hot upon his skin, still made his blood heat, even as disgust flooded his body. The vampire was his enemy, one he had particular reason to hate, and yet his body continued to betray him. Bile, thick and rancid filled his mouth. He must remember. The rhythmic beat of his fist became a chant within his head, 'Duro, Duro, Duro'. The beat moved through his mind filling his body. Yet it waged in counter rhythm to the pounding of his heart, and that sickened him, flooding his mind with confusion and his soul with self loathing.

"And how long do you intend to hide here" A strong voice commanded from behind him. Agron stopped mid swing, his fist freezing before the bag. He turned blinking the sweat from his eyes. The owner of the voice was in shadow, the bright light from the corridor illuminating him from behind, affording concealment. Agron knew that although the voice was strong, the body that belonged to it, was not.  
"I will stay here as long as it takes until I can be sure I wont gut the vampire fuck you currently have chained beneath your quarters" Agron slowly unwound the strips of cloth binding his hands and moved to fully face the intruder.  
"Spartacus, why did you not tell me who it was", he accused, the pain etched on his face was clear in every line. Tears still gathered in his eyes from freshly remembered agony of years past, and humiliation of how only hours ago, he had been reduced to a bitch in heat against his will.  
Spartacus moved into the light. His movements were as slow and careful as they had been for the past 600 years. This man who had been a champion of the brotherhood, a leader, strong in mind as well as body, now beaten and scarred almost beyond recognition. The right side of his face and chest having been burned so badly that the flesh had melted away, raised and knotted scar tissue having replaced skin. The right eye was lost, forever an empty hole covered by a black patch. And whilst the left one still worked, the flesh around it was only just recognizable. His lower jaw and most of the left side of his body had been left unscathed, except for the scar around his neck where his throat had been torn open. He would never be the warrior he once was, however, his mind was alert and he remained the glue that held the brotherhood together.

Spartacus sat down, his right leg struggling under his weight. Agron knew better than to go to aid, and if he was honest, he didn't give a fuck about his friends comfort at that moment.  
"We didn't know for sure who it was. Only that he had followed her here every night this week." He looked at Agron, sorrow in his face. "By the time we found out, you were already at the bar with Saxa" Agron looked into Spartacus face and saw truth there.  
"If we had warned you what would you have done?" he challenged.  
" Hell, I don't know, Fuck!" Agron ran his hands through his hair, disturbing the drops of sweat gathered there. "Just a heads up would of been good. You know how long I have been hunting him"  
" I do" Spartacus nodded, even that small movement showing obvious discomfort as scar tissue pulled "I also saw you on the monitors when he told you his name. You continued with your mission with honor, as always"  
Agron sighed, sitting down heavily on the bench next to his friend and brother. He slowly fingered the large B branded onto his forearm. Spartacus looked down at his own arm, his mark having been long burnt away. " We will need to talk about what happened in the ally"  
Agron looked up sharply, blood heating his cheeks, "Fuck man" he avoided Spartacus keen gaze " I dunno what that was. Can we just.... not now? I'm still processing this shit"  
Spartacus laid his good hand on Agrons shoulder, " Of course Brother" He smiled as much as he was able given his ruined lips. " But we will talk of this once the vampire has been disposed of" it was an order, not a request.  
Agron shifted uneasily. Even though he hated the fucking vampire that even now lay bound within the compound, the talk of its demise stirred his heart to beating and his hands to tremble. He wanted to scream and shout and........protect?. Instead all he said was "Of course my Brother"  
Spartacus stood slowly, " Then come brother, lets us see if we cant break the undead demon before we send him back to the bowels of hell from whence he was belched"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what is so important bout that damn dagger? Who is Crixus guest? Why is Crixus so hot when he is all evil? And how do you make a Thracian bird sing? ( I'm guessing it isn't with cuddles!) And poor sparty ;(
> 
> ps: what is Nasirs talent??? and Why is it so important to Crixus??? (I so want it to be a mystical blowjob!)


	4. Update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, This isnt a chapter. I am just posting to let you know that I hope to get a chapter up this weekend. Due to writers block and real life, getting this chapter up is being a real pain. If I am not able to post by this weekend, I suspect a chapter will be up by the end of next week at the latest. Sorry about the delay xox

Apparently this has to be 10 characters soooooooo...............


	5. Remember Me.......

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this is really chapter 4. I am so sorry about the delay. I lost my job recently and hunting for a new one has taken precedence. I have tried to make this more a readable format, and I apologize for any spelling / grammar errors. Constructive crit is always welcome.
> 
> As yet no smexy times but they are coming (pun intended)
> 
> see end notes for update! ;p

Damascus 1050 AD

The hot sun beat down on the masses that filled the large Souk. The hard baked earth was hot beneath Agrons feet as he made his way around the edge of the square, eyes continually scanning the heaving throng. The air was rich, laden with the scent of spices mingled with sweat and the muskiness of the earth. Stalls were packed tightly together, some small filled with trinkets, others grand groaning Under the weight of colorful fabrics, rugs and rich tapestry's. The stalls were tightly packed, spiraling in snake like fashion. Maneuvering between the hot press of bodies, Agron gripped the hilt of his sword strapped to his side. Fingers tight round the worn pommel just in case. It was daylight but you never knew when trouble could find you, and he would much rather not be caught unawares. True, the Leeches would all be to ground with the sun this high in the sky, but the Lycans and various Demonacies were another matter. Stopping by a small stall, Agron started to root. It was Duros birthday in a moons time and he would see it remembered. After all it was not often that one turned a thousand years old, especially in their particular profession.

The rickety table was almost collapsing under the weight of all the trinkets and odds and ends piled high. The goods haphazardly displayed. A small woman, weathered with age, was stooped behind the the stall. Her hunched shoulders were wrapped in a brightly colored shawl that looked almost as old as she was. Her hair was pulled back loosely as was the custom of Syrian women. Seeing Agron , her smile widened, adding more lines to the map of her face . She picked up some of the trinkets littering the table and attempted to thrust them into his hands, urging him in Arabic. 

Agrons Arabic was somewhat Rusty. Ashur remained the most bi-lingual within the brotherhood, his cunning mind had been picking up dialects for the past 500 years as they tracked leeches over the known world. And whilst Agron was by no means stupid, his skills were very much more of a physical nature. Agron usually knew enough to get by. However, he found the guttural vowels hard to curl his Germanic tongue around. 

She continued to try and push what Agron now saw was a small statue of a goat into his hands, attempting to close his callused fingers around it. " You buy, you buy, for luck............"

Agron grimaced, trying to push the goat back into her hands. Agron wasn't afraid of many things, but he loathed goats. The sight of them made him break out into a sweat. As a small child he had been bitten by a particular nasty Nanny as a child. He still had the scars on his backside as a reminder.

The Syrians on the other hand appeared to love them. Agron shuddered , what is it with fucking goats, they were everywhere! Goat statues in the temples. goats on the local currency. Children playing with goats made out of leather and fur, in the street. One could not escape them. Even the inn they were staying at was surrounded by goats. The inn keeper referring to them as his dam children. Agron shuddered. Once they left Damascus, if he never saw a fucking goat again it would be too soon.

As Agron placed the goat somewhat gingerly back on the stall, a flash of gold caught his eye. He peered closer. Partially hidden beneath a bright square of fabric lay a necklace. It was skillfully crafted, a long platted thong, of dark brown hide, with four gold beads fastening the two sides together. In the middle of the fastening 3 coins had been inlaid side by side. Agron held the leather thong up to the light, squinting slightly against the harsh sun, turning the coins over in his hand. They weren't lira or even Egyptian, both of which were still commonly used throughout Syria since the fall of the ottoman empire. Neither were they one of the new coins brought to the land by those traveling with the Crusades. It was a coin unlike any Agron had seen before. Upon each side was a man with 2 faces, each looking in opposing directions. The gold seemed unnaturally warm in his grasp, even under the glaring heat of a midday sun. The mirrored faces appearing to shift visage as the light reflected on their surface.

Entranced by his find, he jumped as a large hand slapped his shoulder. Startled, Agron turned round, hand going to the pommel of his sword. Behind him stood Duro, a large grin splitting his tanned face. 

" Fuck the gods Duro, I was about to run you through".

Duro continued to grin,raising a hand to push his short dreads back from his face. Like everyone else in the souk, he was sweating. The heat of Damascus nothing like the chill air of home.

" You would try", Duro playfully pushed at Agrons shoulder", But you would not succeed" Agron laughed, dimples flashing. 

"You care to wage on that" He fisted his hands as if to fight " For I remember a time when a snot nosed little shit got arse kicked back in Capua for a lesser slight"  
Light flashed across Duros eyes, blinding bright.

"What have you there brother". Duro asked, his eyes resting on the necklace still clasped in Agrons hand.  
Looking down Agron slowly opened his palm. The faces on the coin seemed to wink in the sun. He had all but forgotten that he still grasped it. 

" Ah Janus" Duro took the necklace from agrons fingers holding it up to the light " The god of change, traveling and' he wiggled his eyes at Agron, 'passages" 

" Passages eh?," Agron rolled his eyes " and come tell me Brother how come you to so much about this god"

" I have hidden talents, and I have always been the smarter brother" Agron raised his eyebrows, disbelief showing plainly on his face.

" This coming from a man who once asked a Lycan if he smelled of wet dog when it rained...........?"Ripples of laughter fell from Duros lips 

" Yes memory remains fresh, as do the scars", Duro grimaced at the remembered pain, absently rubbing the long curving scar across a tattoo on his right bicep. It was never a good idea to rouse a lycan from sleep, drink or whores at the best of times. Even more so if one wanted to ask a stupid question. The Lycan had knocked seven bells out of him before Agron had arrived and, pull him off, with Spartacus help. He pressed the necklace back into agrons hand, a wry grin twisting his lips "Gannicus was most displeased"

"A displeasure that I had, again, to save you from"

" But it all turned out well enough, the Lycan failed to rip out throat. And we managed to make escape, with but a few scars"  
Duro paused " As well as being unquestionably the smarter brother, I also happen to have fucked a priestess of Janus back in Rome" He grinned " I paid attention to many things......Cunt and cant"

Still grinning, Duro turned to the woman who was busying herself, pulling out what looked to be little effegys of goats made out some manner of hair. 

"How much for the necklace", Duro asked in almost flawless Arabic.

The woman grinned showing more gum than tooth. She held up her hand, fingers and thumb splayed.  
"Sous" she said as if to clarify. 

Duro looked again to the necklace, then up at agrons face."Thats a lot for a charm necklace" He pulled out a leather pouch from his subliguria "2 Sous if it is worth that" Pulling out the coins he attempted to push them into her hands.

She slapped his hands away with surprising strength. "5" she snarled. Scowling she pulled the necklace from agrons grasp.

Agron brows lowered. For some benighted reason he was more than a little bit attached to the necklace. The elderly lady continued to mutter angry words in Arabic, Sharpe guttural sounds tripping off her tongue too fast for Agron to be sure of what she said. She looked up and pointed a bony finger across the souk. Looking in the direction she pointed, a group of boys stood huddled together around the far side of a wall. They were most likely playing dice. His eyes roved over the Youths, all dark skinned and lithe. As he was about to look away a small figure caught his gaze. From the back, the boy looked to be no more than 14, small and slight of build, with midnight black hair cut short and curling slightly about his ears. A sudden sharp sensation tugged within Agrons chest. Breath hitching as a strange feeling settled deep within his stomach. The scented air seemed to still. His surrounding's faded . In the still silence a voice sounded clear and sharp in his mind. "Mine". 

As quickly as it came the voice was gone, but the longing deep within his chest remained. It was as if everything inside him had shifted and was now resettled in a completely different configuration than before. lungs and and liver rearranged to make room for the bone deep need settled within where his heart had been.

A sudden push on his shoulder was like a bucket of iced water thrown in his face. Shaking his head, eyes reluctantly moving from the small figure in the distance, Agron glanced up to Duro. His brother was staring at him eyebrows raised. Having realized he had been caught staring at a child, Agron, almost imperceptibly, raised his shoulders. The bashful movement caused Duro eyebrows to raise higher.  
"  
She says it is worth more than 5 but she will give it to us for that little" Duro continued to look searchingly into Agrons face" she says it was made by her grandson, and has much magic in it. Prayers were cast in the crafting to lead him to his true love"

The woman was now spitting on the coins and polishing them with an old oil stained rag. Wiping away imaginary dirt whilst smearing oil and the gods knew what else on it.

Pulling himself together, Agron quirked a brow "And he wont mind it being sold?" His eyes flickered back to the boy in the distance. He knew he was the grandson she talked of, just as he knew he had to have the necklace.

Duro grinned " Apparently 5 sous will mend his broken heart and fill their bellies for a week"

Agron attempted a laugh, Dimples flashing " Well if a heart is to be broken, then let it be for a decent sum". All he wanted to do was buy the trinket so he could go over to the boy still standing quietly at the wall. He had not yet turned round, but Agron knew that when he did everything would make some sort of sense again.

With a renewed sense of urgency and purpose, he opened his own pouch and pulled out 5 sous, holding them out to the woman in his large callused palm. Face splitting in a large gummy grin. she spat on the necklace and gave it one last vigorous rub with the dirty cloth before handing it over. Agron took it gingerly and placed it round his neck where it settled next to his heart.

"Now come Brother, Spartacus has need of you. News has it that Crixus has moved south"

Agron glanced again to where the boy remained among his friends. 

"I will be along presently" Agron made to move across the square. Duros halted him, a large palm slapped across his chest.

" You have but an hour before we leave" he said, eyes following Agrons line of sight.

Agron looked down at the hand then up into Duros face. " I will be there presently" , He impatiently push the hand away.

"Go then", Sighing, with a large roll of his eyes, Duro held his arms out to his sides in a gesture of defeat " But remember we leave withing the hour"

As Duro was about to turn away a loud scream pierced the air. Suddenly a body went sailing through the air. Then another one, crashing into a stall over the far side of the souk near the boy. Goods were strewn, as people fought to leave, pushing and pulling others out of their way. The air became thick with the smell of blood and fear. Amidst the carnage two large wolves appeared, both with fur blacker than night, and large red glowing eyes. They were too large to be normal wolves. It appeared Lycans were also in town. Agron pushed people out of the way trying to see across the destruction

Seeing the boy scramble up the wall with his friends and satisfied he was in no immediate danger, Agron glanced to Duro. They pulled out their swords, the sound of metal on leather. Agron glanced up once again to where the boy had been, he had already disappeared over the far side of the wall making his escape. Relief bloomed in his chest, but he had no time to examine it. The Lycans continued to massacre any in their way. They were searching for something, or someone. Without a second thought, he charged towards them, sword raised, battle cry upon his lips. Duro pressed close behind him. If nothing else he would give the boy time to flee. A price he would happily pay with his hearts blood. If he lived through this fight, he would find him again. He knew with a bone deep certainty. And With that thought Fresh in his mind, he swung his sword..........

 

 

New York: Present Day

Agron woke with a start, cold sweat beading his brow, the vivid memories of the past having curled into consciousness, pushing him from the oblivion of sleep. Memories of Duro were fresh in his mind. The taste of his blood a bitter tang on his lips that the passage of years could not dull. His decayed heart still saw the mangled and twisted flesh that had been all that remained of his brother. A corpse lying, as if in offering, upon an alter of skulls.

His hand went to where his pendant lay cold and still, as Charon's Obal, against the frantic beating of his heart. The leather tie had long worn away. Now all that remained were 2 coins, the 3rd having been used to pay the ferryman long ago. Agron measured the weight of the gold in his palm, The cold metal warming as he curled his fingers around it, tightly enough so that the countenance of Janus would remain a stark reminder, ghosted to flesh. He slowly turned on the low bunk, swinging his legs over the side, springs squeaking. His large body too long and too big to fit comfortably in the narrow berth. 

He was grateful to have a room to himself. The thought of others witnessing the nightmares that still plagued him was unbearable. Not many of the brotherhood would get a single cell, most slept in the military style dorms on the upper levels. Agron though was part of the original brotherhood, trained by Bhatiatus. Once a Roman soldier, hailing from Germania, he had become part of an army dedicated to eradicating any threat to humans. With the death of Bhatiatus an army had been born, with a responsibility to protect those who did not realize that they needed that protection.

The Brotherhood network was big, with compounds and research facilitates across the globe. Almost 2000 years had seen the brotherhood grow and strengthen. New members were inducted yearly. Made up of those who had a reason to distrust any of the Mythos. Many rules governed the creatures that inhabited their world, the most important being that mortals remain in ignorance. This rule was so important it that it took up several pages in the Mythocarnam, a bible of sorts, sacred scripture set down by the various Gods. To break any of the 7 sacred rues meant their displeasure. And anyone who pissed off a God, rarely lived to tell the tale. 

The brotherhood regularly broke this rule. It was a necessity, if one was to keep on fighting against the real life nightmares. It was a constant battle, filled with blood and death. Those that fell in battle needed to be replaced. Although those in the brotherhood were strong, They would never be quite as strong as most immortals. And they were still ultimately mortal. Anyway, the fucking vampires were the worst. Crassus had been attempting to build his army of the turned for nearly 2 millennium. Agron very much doubted that he only turned those who had been exposed to creatures that inhabited the Mythos. 

A loud knock sounded on the metal door. Agron looked up in time to see it swing open, Saxa standing in the doorway, shoulder resting against the door jab. She wore a bored expression on her face and held a fluorescent pink nail file in one hand. Not looking at him, she began to run the file back and forth along her Sharpe, claw like fingernails that were currently painted bright blue.

"You must come", she said without preamble, her face an unreadable mask. 

Having been a part of the brotherhood for the better part of 500 years, it still confounded Agron how bad her English was. It was clear that she could understand it perfectly, but when it came to speaking it, she still struggled with the simplest of phrases. Come to think of it Lugo was the same. Agron had always found it comforting that others from his home land had found a place among them. Both had become friends, even if Saxa would deny it. They looked out for each other. Him, Saxa and Lugo were a family of sorts. 

When Saxa had been fucked over by the Wolf, Gannicus, Lugo and Agron had gone and made sure that he wouldn't be able to repeat the act ever again. Battered and bruised, her features had been indistinguishable, her blond hair a dark red. Agron had no idea what had really gone down in the Lycan den, and Saxa refused to talk of it. All he knew was that something had happened in the four days she had disappeared. Something that had fractured her skull, ribs, pelvis and jaw. And that Gannicus was to blame. It had only been the skillful work of Onameus, that had saved her body. But whilst the body had been pieced together, Agron was fully aware that the mind had not.

To say that the attack had changed Saxa was an understatement. Before they had found her, broken and bleeding left outside one of the Dens, the tall blond had always been strong. Fighting, cussing and fucking like a true Brother. However, she had never been cruel, or seemed to have a taste for drawing out pain and suffering, even of the soulless. If anything, she had always been swift in her executions, taking little pleasure from the task, only doing what was necessary. But since the attack she had become more aggressive. Always the first one to start a fight, and always the last one to leave it. She took perverse pleasure in torturing any creature that was captured. 

It had taken her the better part of 6 months for her body to physically heal. Once she had, she was more deadly than ever. Agron knew that whatever the Wolf had done to her, it had broken something that could not be fixed. Yes she was alive, she had healed. But Agron knew she no longer lived. Her despair was palpable, like a shroud encompassing her. Between them, Agron and Lugo did what they could to hold her together. They were family. And Agron had lost more family than he could bear. He would be dammed if he would lose any more.

Snagging a t-shirt from the end of the bed and giving it a good sniff, Agron stood, stretching, all 6 ft 1" of pure muscle. The thick corded ligaments and tendons in his arms lengthening and flexing and his rock like abdomen tautening. Saxa rolled her eyes then continued to look nonchalantly down at her nails.

"Hurry, he starts without you" she said in the same bored tone

"Who starts what?" he asked raising an eyebrow. Saxa merely continued to buff her nails. The pink file rasping rhythmically, like sandpaper over stone.

"Spartacus" Suddenly she looked straight in his eyes. Her eyes a startling blue as if lit with a fire from within "He starts with the vampire"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> update: next chapter will be up by the 16th of june (there may be a lil bit of smexy time) remember kudos and reviews keep faries alive ;))


	6. A Debt Repaid...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is long. Sorry about the long wait. Real life is being a bitch at the moment, kinda like Spart is...... shall be reposting chapter 5 in the next 48 hours as I have realised I posted an older draft. The only thing different is a 6 line paragraph that alludes to something in this chapter. So once I sift through my drafts and find it I shall stick it where it should go ;p
> 
> Sorry there is very little smut in this chapter.....however, I am almost positive I shall develop the awful affliction of smut vomit in the next one ;p
> 
> Reviews are helpful, and constructive crit is welcome as always. The only beta the fic has seen is my neighbours cat, Missy Gaga (real name ;p)

Nasir was dead. Weightless. His body felt like the whisper of an idea, insubstantial; his flesh nothing more than a hastily penciled sketch. Except for his face. That hurt like a mother fucker. Which was strange given that the last time he had died he hadn't felt anything. 

The first time he had traveled to the underworld, he had floated, face raised toward the mass of swirling stars lining the perpetual night sky, as he was carried along the eddying waters of the river Styx. Making the final journey home. 

He had heard the gentle whispers of Jaddee and Akim calling to him, their voices no more than a softly soothing breeze against his ear. The actual words were indistinguishable, but the sweet cadence of sound, promised a wealth of love. 

'Home' 

The feeling of steadily drawing closer to their warmth, resonated, a deep vibrating bass, through his soul. Nasir had experienced the first tendrils of peace stealing through his body, like a hesitant Thief, as his final breath took flight. The fear he had felt, as his blood was drained from his body, was replaced by a calm, so profound, it brought tears to his eyes; mingling with the cool waters of the river. Then everything had changed, like a shifting tide being pulled by an unstoppable force. Intense pain had racked him, swirling through his body like an electrical storm, blinding white light bursting against the back of his eyelids. A searing burn so hot it had turned the gentle river into a boiling, writhing mass. 

Arms of the damned broke the surface, their pale limbs twisted and gnarled, stretched up from the dark roiling depths clawing for purchase. The knotted fingers had grasped hair, skin, tearing flesh as they had attempted to draw his soul down to the depths of Tartarus. 

Suddenly it had felt as if a thickly woven skein of his life essence was tugged, the insistent pressure of something dragging him further down into the swirling depths. Talon like claws raked his face, arms and legs as he had felt himself plunging down through the fun-gating mass of damned souls as his spirit was ripped from the underworld. icy cold fire raced up from his fingertips and down to his toes, rushing over his body, electrical energy suffusing his being, regenerating his deadened flesh. Once again he was corporeal. The same but different. 

He had blinked open hot, tight, blood crusted eyes, against the brilliance of the moon that had hung high over him; and stared into the black pupil-ed depths of death. That was the night he was reborn. That was the night he learned that some things were indeed worse than death.

Nasir had been many things during his life, a grandson to Jaddee, a brother to Akim, and a dreamer. Naive and trusting, he had often whiled away hours as he helped Jaddee craft things for her stall, dreaming of what he would be when he was a man. He liked the Goats his Jaddee helped him make. He thought about owning a little goat farm somewhere. Maybe close to Damascus so he could see Jaddee and Akim. His little brother, which his dimpled smile and chubby hands, would be too young to live with him, but he could come visit him and Nasir would teach him how to tend the goats. 

Nasir had sat by the hearth and dreamt. But always buried under his simple hopes he had always felt like he was searching for something. A persistent nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach, telling him there was something more for him. He had always felt he was waiting for something, or someone. There had been one time that he thought the elusive something was close, palpable, but still nothing more substantial than a breath stirring still air. Only one time, when the nervous feeling that rolled around his stomach had stetted, had he felt close to…something tangible. But the sensation had been fleeting. Broken by a macabre vision of hot blood and midnight black fur. 

 

 

In death he had been little more than a monster, covered by the thinly veiled disguise of a man. But he knew he was more animal than man. He had woken that first night, having been torn from the underworld, confusion mingled with the bitter taste of fear. Still surrounded by the corpses of his family, he had stared into those black fathomless depths and felt.......nothing.

Nothing for the sightless eyes of Akim as he lay, rent almost in two, at the bottom of his bed; His small hand still grasping his wooden sword. Nothing for his Jaddee, her throat ripped open, the blood still dripping onto the hard dirt floor.

Nothing.

Nothing, until he had walked into a seedy bar in downtown Manhattan, looked across a sea of faces, each more unimportant than the last. 

Nothing until he had seen him standing at the bar across the room.

 

 

More than a thousand years of carnage and destruction had passed since that first death, however, this one, for all it felt similar, was not quite the same. There was the same numbing feeling of weightless disconnection' but now it was coupled with searing pain. Spikes of heat centered along his forehead, arresting his breath in his throat. 

Breath. That was something new too. Nasir hadn't had to breath for one thousand years, never taking more than enough air to make sound. Now he was very much aware of the shallow but steady breaths that filled his lungs.

In. Out. In Out. 

A comforting cadence. On each inhalation the subtle spicy scent of his own blood filled his senses. But that was different too. It was overlaid with the enticing smell of something else. The mouthwatering Sharpe tang of rich dark chocolate.

His wandering thoughts were halted by a penetrating pain at his throat. The scent of roses bloomed around him, filling his nose, and for the first time in a thousand years he felt the first stuttering beat of his once dead heart...

 

 

The vampire's naked body was lying on the surgical examination table. The table was little more than a narrow steel slab. A wide brown leather strap was securely buckled around his middle and leather restraints attached to his wrists. Four metal spikes were driven through his shoulders and ankles, screwed securely to the table beneath him. It had taken eight hunters to attempt to hold him down when that had been done. Although he hadn't fully regained consciousness since Agron had laid him out, even in his semi conscious state, the vampire was strong. 

When they had been unable to rouse the leech, Spartacus had promised he wouldn't attempt to interrogate him again unless Agron was present. Agron having made him swear it on the name of Batiatus . Spartacus kept his promises. But Agron never said anything about Vivisection.

Two thousand years was a long time to fight the hell spawned Leeches that infected the world, but even in all that time, the brotherhood had rarely had the opportunity to study them. Mythosians were hard to capture. If a member of the Mythos was alive, chances were that he was strong and deadly to have survived. Even the weakest demons could tear out a mortals heart as an after thought. But if you were weak you didn't live long in their world. Vampires were especially hard to take alive. They always fought to the death and rarely left any chance of being taken alive. Many had run out into the sun rather than be captured.

Also, this particular Vampire was special. He had been turned by Crixus himself. Not to mention the disturbing connection he seemed to have with Agron.

If he hadn't seen it himself, Spartacus would never have believed Agron would debase himself with such a vile creature, especially one Agron believed to have killed his brother. But he had seen it, clear as day on the security monitors linked to the cameras outside the club. Agron had made the first move, and if it hadn't been for the call the Leech had received, he wasn't entirely sure that his best friend, and most trusted ally would have stopped. And that thought kept him from what little sleep he got. Now there was no one he could trust. He wouldn't give Agron the chance to betray him. He had already had his heart ripped out of his chest by one who had been a brother to him in more than blood......

Unbidden, memories assailed him. Long black hair, wide green eyes. A spray of freckles over the delicate bridge of a nose. Laughter on smiling lips, those same lips brushing his unmarred cheek, as they whisper secrets shared in the sated aftermath of love. A name more precious than any he had ever given breath too before or since, 

Sura…….

Sharpe pain flared deep inside, twisting around his deadened heart. Narrowing his eyes, he drew the pain forth, focusing it on the the pitiful creature before him, making the last neat cut deep. Removing the Larynx, he placed it on the steel tray besides him. 

The Vampire was still out cold. Clamping the IV line running from the bag of blood hooked to the pole at the head of the table, Spartacus slapped the bloodied remains of the vampires face. Skin and sinew gaped to expose bone and tendon. Gloved fingers slid over the mangled flesh, occasionally poking into the gouged out eye sockets. The eyes had been the first to go. The half lidded stare, though vacant, had seemed to mock him. They now stared at him from next to the carefully placed Larynx. Spartacus wanted the Leech awake for what would happen next. It wouldn't be any fun if the Vampire couldn't feel the pain...

 

 

Lugo stood by,looking uncertain, a large plastic bag of o neg in one hand and a smaller bag filled with a black viscose liquid in the other. Wendigo poison, the most corrosive acid known to the Mythos. 

Wedigos were universally hated throughout the Mythos. Even the haughty natural born vampires, led by Crassus, were wary about fighting them. They were rabid, half tamed creatures at best. Tending to hunt in packs, congregating and forming flocks mostly in the South Americas they preferred the concealment of the dense rain forests found there. Occasionally there would be sightings in more populated areas. Usually a stray Wendigo separated from a flock that had been brought in by a Mythosian to be used for protection from enemies. 

However reviled or dangerous they were, there were always some who saw the benefits of having packs of Wendigo's as defacto body guards. They could be tamed after a fashion. A metal spike through the front lobe, usually made them docile enough, allowing them to follow orders. And as long as you fed them a steady diet of fresh meat , preferably humanoid, regularly enough, they remained loyal. Quite a few Goddess's had Wendigo's guarding their temples. 

Locks, in particular, had a fondness of employing an entourage of Wendigo's. Being one of the more fragile races within the mythos, they tended to require hired muscle whenever engaging in transactions with the rest of the immortal world. Universally acknowledged mercenaries of the Mythos most of their business dealings were inevitably with particularly unsavory Demonicies, and usually ended with someone being pissed at the Lock. So it was always helpful having a slavish being, that could follow commands without hesitation, had the strength of 10 mortal men and could spit large quantities of the most corrosive acid in the known world, with the ability to hit the target to within a millimeter, up to 1000 feet away.

Understandably, getting the poison was a dangerous, and in the majority of cases, fatal job. But it was a particularly effective means of torture on an immortal. Immortals couldn't die unless the spinal chord was fully severed from the body, even a slither of an inch would allow them to regenerate and heal. Slowly dissolving parts of them whilst keeping the spinal chord intact, loosened most tongues. Even the legendary Julius Ceaser, King of the Thanatos, an ancient caste of winged demon, and renowned bad ass, had lost his kingdom under torture from Wendigo poison. A kingdom he had been unsuccessfully trying to reclaim for the past 200 years..

Using such a precious commodity on an unconscious prisoner was an expensive waste. The brotherhood had worked hard to stockpile the large quantities they had, and now, after 2 hours with the vampire, they were down to their last bag. Spartacus had kept an almost constant stream dripping out over the vampires face. The black bag hanging up next to the bag of blood, the end of the line swaying just above his forehead.

 

 

Lugo stood torn. When Spartacus had insisted on starting without Agrons knowledge, Lugo had sent Saxa to find him. He very much hoped she wouldn't dawdle. She had no love for Leeches, but even she hadn't been completely unaffected by Spartacus' treatment of the strange vampire. 

Things had been disturbing enough for Lugo, seeing his commander cutting and slicing, his fingers appearing nimble despite his deformities. But it had filled him with unease when Spartacus had removed the Vampires larynx. Drops of blood had dripped slowly from the wound at his throat, hitting the stainless steel floor, tap tap tap. His eyes had nearly bugged out of his head as he had realized the pulsing blood from the open neck wound had a definite rhythm.

The vampire appeared to have developed a somewhat sluggish heartbeat. Lugo had audibly swallowed at that. Vampires as a rule were dead. Their bodies didn't have heartbeats. The only air they needed was just enough to allow them to talk. With each drop of blood that hit the dull surface of the floor, the smell of roses became apparent. At first it had been nothing more than a sweet scent on the air. However with each rend of flesh, each drop of blood, the scent grew, until it encompassed every space in the room. Filling their lungs on each heaving breath and invading their pores.

 

 

Ignoring Lugo's worried gaze, Spartacus focused, continuing by cutting into the rib cage, conscious of the slow steady rhythm of the blood hitting the floor.  
TAP....TAP.....TAP.....  
Sweat beaded his brow, dripping down his face. The cloying scent of roses clung to his nostrils making him nauseous. He didn't know if the smell came from the vampire but he did know that vampires didn't have heart beats no matter how slow. 

He had chanced a glance up when the severed carotid artery had developed that unnerving pulsation. Lugo had gone noticeably whiter. Spartacus knew, that while Lugo was loyal to the brotherhood, he felt more kinship for Agron and Saxa. Something he had learned to his own detriment many years ago. And no matter how much time passed, he would never forget it. He had seen Saxa sidle out the door and knew he had to be quick. Agron could arrive any minute.

Making a slice horizontally from clavicle to sternum, he peeled back the flesh. Using four clamps to pull back the skin, he opened the wound wider, exposing the rib cage beneath. Probing between the ribs with two fingers, he pushed back the left lung searching for the heart. Between the gaps of bone, he saw it. The organ was larger than he had expected. Most Vampire hearts he had seen had been blackened, shriveled lumps of inanimate flesh. This one was large and strong, and it was unmistakably beating. Any hope Spartacus had that he was wrong, evaporated at the sight of the strong flutter, as the muscle contracted and released; low, steady and palpably present. 

The smell of roses bloomed, richer than before, almost choking off his breath. Struggling to inhale, Spartacus, picked up the small bone saw from the tray of instruments. This was something unknown, and the unknown was dangerous.

Glancing up at the Leeches face with it's empty eye sockets, he hardened his resolve. If he couldn't learn what he need to know from it's tongue, then he would take what knowledge he could from it's body. But to do that he needed him alive for now. The Vampire had long stopped regenerating, he had lost too much blood. Spartacus glanced to where Lugo still stood, like a frightened rabbit (all be it a fucking huge frightened rabbit), with the bag of blood still clutched in his hand.

"Connect the bag"

When he got no reply he looked up. Lugo remained still, eyes flicking between the Vampire, his Commander and the closed door. 

"Lugo, why are you still standing there" Spartacus barked "Connect the blood before we lose him, I need to remove the heart."

 

 

Lugo wasn't sure if the vampire was dead already. Well more dead than he had been before, given the fact that he was in fact undead. Gods be damned, but that thought made his head hurt. It was easier years ago when all he had to do was stick his Axe where he was told. Lugo thought he may have been seeing things, but had that been the brief twitch of an exposed muscle in his cheek. The scent of roses seemed to bloom stronger than before, if that was even possible. The heady scent wild and sharp, filling the room, making Lugo want to vomit all over his new Uggs.

 

 

Spartacus looked up sharply as the door to the interrogation room slammed open, trembling on it's iron hinges. Agron stood framed in the door way, chest heaving as if he had just run all the way from the other side of the compound in ten seconds flat. Saxa stood behind him. Her pale face a mask of indifference, a pink nail file clasped in her hand.

 

 

Agron took one look at the vampire lying on the table, his naked body torn and ruined his face unrecognizable. If it hadn't been for the unnerving emotions he always seemed to feel in his presence he would not have known it was him. He was barley aware of Lugo standing nervously in the corner. Unfathomable fear and anger burning hot in his gut, his eyes shifted from the Vampire and zeroed in on Spartacus. 

"Spartacus, what are you doing" His voice sounded unsteady even to his ears. Something he knew Spartacus wouldn't fail to notice.

Calmly placing the bloodied scalpel next to the removed Larynx and ever staring eyeballs, Spartacus held Agrons gaze.

"I'm attempting to interrogate the prisoner. We need to know what Crixus plans"

Agrons eyes shifted back to the vamp. The imperceptible rise and fall of his chest filled him with an emotion he was not yet ready to analyze, but it was something akin to relief. Then he did a double take. The vampire was breathing....? OK, things just got fucked to fucking weird in 0-60. Trying to remain calm, Agron attempted to keep his voice even. 

"It hardly looks as if the leech is in any fit state to talk"

"Maybe not" 

The Wendigo acid had eaten through the vampires lips and tongue, his small fangs exposed. Spartacus pulled off the protective gloves he wore and, picking up a thin metallic clamp, closed the line connected to the almost empty bag of Wendigo poison.

"But I was getting bored with waiting. He has been out for nearly a week. We don't know how long Crixus will wait before coming for his pet. Anyway he will heal soon enough"

 

 

Lugo stood frozen, wary eyes moving between his Commander and one he thought of as a blood brother. The bag of blood still grasped in his nerveless fingers.  
Moving past him, Agron went to stand over the creature. Strapped to the table he seemed so small and harmless. Along with his ruined face, his hair had been burned away. The hair that less than a week ago, Agron had crushed beneath his fingers in a desperate attempt to pull him closer. The unbidden memory moved quietly through him like a shadow. As he looked down he saw that Spartacus was right, the tissue and flesh starting to knit together in front of his eyes, but it was slow. The regeneration sluggish. 

Glancing to where Lugo still stood, he motioned towards the Vampire,  
"Lugo please could you connect the he will heal faster" 

Lugo looked to Spartacus as if waiting for a challenge. Spartacus simply nodded his head. Lugo took the assent and attached the bag to the line still attached to the Leeches arm.

 

 

Once the bag was connected, the thick plasma filling the line, the vampires regeneration picked up. Within what felt like an eternity but could have been no more than a heartbeat, the dark olive perfection of his skin was as flawless as before. Agron released his breath, one he was unaware he had been holding. He turned around, Spartacus steely gaze eyeballing him keenly, his one good eye raking over him. Suppressing a shiver and feeling unaccountably exposed, Agron stood his ground.

"You promised you would wait until he had woken" he accused "We were to do this together"

"Since when do I answer to you, brother" Spartacus spat, lips curled in a sneer.

Barely able to contain the flash anger those words inspired, Agron fought for calm. Awareness of just how fucked up his feelings for the leech were,filled his mind, however, the visceral reaction, the deep burning want, was still there, like a hot poker branding his soul. He was conscious of every breath the Demon took, and couldn't help the relief coursing through him at each steady inhalation. Blood pumping, he stalked closer to his Leader and friend.

"Fuck that." He snarled. 

Crowding Spartacus back against the wall, he loomed over him. His face mere inches away, he could see the calculating way Spartacus looked at him. The rapid connections his mind was making, drawing conclusion, weighing up possibilities, almost palpable. Agron had always thought Spartacus saw too much, definitely more than was good for him, but at that moment he didn't give a Fuck.

"Who the FUCK do you think u are" he growled " You ordered me here. You fucking said that you would wait." Hands flat against Spartacus chest, he shoved him back into the hard steel wall. 

"ANSWER ME" he roared "YOU SAID YOU WOULDN'T TOUCH HIM...."

" Your judgment is clouded" Spartacus snarled. "He is the one who killed Duro", Spartacus twisted , snaking away from Agron and using his good hand to slam the larger man back against the wall, reversing their positions. He was surprisingly strong. 

'"He was the one who peeled Duro's skin from his flesh leaving only the drained husk and tattoo as some fucked up message". Spartacus narrowed his eye at Agron,  
"or had you forgotten?" 

Grimacing, Agron shifted his eyes away from that steely glare, "I forget nothing" he breathed with a conviction that almost had him believing his own lie. The flesh memory of touching the vampire as he had in the ally, dreamlike. Whatever happened from this point on, he knew the feel of him in his arms and the sweet taste of him on his lips, would remain indelibly imprinted on his soul for the rest of his days.

A maniacal spark, leapt to flame, deep within Spartacus' good eye as a look of disgust twisted his burned visage further,  
"You should want revenge. That is what is normal, not this twisted fascination you seem to have with a filthy Leech"

"I do", Agron rasped violently pushing Spartacus away from him, unheeding of his friends weakened body , "but not like this. This is not who we are. This is not who you are" 

He glanced back at the vampire who remained still. The gentle motion of his chests at each little shallow inhale and exhale, the only sign he still lived. 

"You don't know who I am", Spartacus spat back, "You have been gone too long Agron"

 

 

Agron rubbed a weary hand over his face, his anger impossible to maintain. He felt tired, so, so, tired. Not for the first time he wished Spartacus would let him go. He had no interest in fighting with Spartacus, or truth be told, with anyone. His once undying faith in Batiatus cause, while not gone, had been intrinsically altered, first by Duro's death, then by the centuries long enforced segregation from the Brotherhood. The only thing he had felt any passion for in the last 500 years, was currently lying strapped to the table beside him.

"I have been gone at your orders", He glanced to where Lugo stood with Saxa. Agron had forgotten that they were in the room, his concern for the Vampire eclipsing every other thought in his mind."If you had wanted me back, you only had to send word and I would have been here"

Spartacus's face remained an implacable mask. Any emotion he felt, wiped clean.

Sighing heavily, Agron placed a gentling hand on Spartacus shoulder. His anger having left him in a rush. Spartacus was not in the wrong here. Agron may not agree with his methods but the vampire was the enemy and he had no doubt if the roles were reversed the leech would do much worse. 

The fact he was the one that had take Duro's life, that alone should fill him with nothing but hate, but try as hard as he could, he just didn't feel it. Not entirely. It was there, just jumbled up with every other dam feeling he seemed to stir in him. Even as he looked at him and saw a fallen angel, he knew that a beast lurked within.

'Brother, let us not fight.

Spartacus eyed Agron warily.

"We need the information he has. It isn't just about Us or Duro"

Lowering his voice, eyes flicking to the Vampire, Spartacus closed the gap between them.

"We have her to think of" he hissed. "Crixus knows she is here. How long do you think it will be before he comes for her", Spartacus stared hard into Agrons eyes.  
"And when he comes he will realize what she is" 

'I know' Agron replied.

"This war has gone on long enough. We have a chance to stop it, stop them all."

Stalking over to the examining table, limp imperceptible, Spartacus stared down at the Leech. The vampire was now fully regenerated, skin healthy and unblemished, but still didn't stir. Glancing up at Agron, the pain was clearly visible in the tense lines of Spartacus's body. Whether from his physical deformities or from his mind, Argon could not be sure.

"We need to know what Crixus knows about her. She is the best chance we have of stopping that monster……." he paused, once again he looked small. Little more than a battered shell of a man. " I will not loose to Crixus, not again"

Turning away from Agron, he clenched his good hand, the skin turning whiter than the scars that webbed the deformed one, " I have a chance.......we have a chance...", he amended, ".....to right a wrong done a long time ago"

"Spartacus, I know" Agron sighed, "and we will. I promise" A slight smiled pulled at Agrons lips, "We will keep her safe this time"

Spartacus blinked rapidly, momentary confusion showing on his face, then as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, once again replaced by a cool mask of indifference.

"Yes, we must keep her safe this time…." 

Agron looked towards the door still standing wide open where Lugo and sax a stood, then back towards the operating table. Barely veiled contempt was clear on saxes face. Argon placed a hand on the the door handle and looked back to Spartacus.

"I will get what you need" he promised in little more than a whisper, " but you must trust me with this...."

Spartacus smiled. "Thank you brother" he grasped Agron's forearm with his good hand, thumb pressing down on the scar there, branding him all over again.

"Saxa, Lugo, I'll call for you if I need you" Agron said, steely resolve filling his voice, his eyes hard as green glass.

Saxas expression didn't change as she restarted the rhythmic back and forth of her nail file, casting one last glance at the still figure lying on the table. Lugo looked reluctant to leave. The Vampire was trouble for Agron, all who had seen the footage from the security cameras knew that salient fact.

"Not good you are on your own with him", Lugo attempted to reason.

Agron smiled wryly, the ghost of his normally easy going grin breaking through the tension thrumming his body.  
"Ill be fine Lugo, but thank you for your concern"

Lugo seemed to hesitate, but a Sharpe look from Spartacus sent him scurrying. Agron glanced between Lugos retreating back and Spartacus face. There was a story there he would have to ask Lugo about later. He had a feeling if he asked Spartacus he wouldn't get a straight answer.

Spartacus stared into Agrons eyes for a long moment, his gaze questioning. Seeming to find what he was searching for, relief suffused his features. 

"Thank you brother, I couldn't entrust this to anyone else"

Agron's smile didn't quite reach his eyes

"I know this will be hard on you. But remember when we have the information we need, he will pay for Duro's death in any manner you see fit"

Nodding Agron pulled the door open wider. Spartacus moved through, his steps once again careful and measured, the strength he had displayed before seeming to have left him, his good hand steadying him as he moved. 

 

 

Agron was about to close the door when Spartacus hesitated. He turned, his eye fixed and penetrating upon him.

"Do not forget Argon, vampires are tricky, liars. Most will say anything to survive when backed against a corner", he glanced to where the Vampire lay still as marble, the sawing of his chest the only movement. "This one is trickier than most, and I would say we have him backed well and truly into a tight corner"

Argon said nothing, nearly stared into Spartacus eyes. He noticed perspiration dotting his upper lip, a slight twitch by his good eye.

"Don t trust him, he will say anything and he has more he can use on you than most"

Agron heaved a sigh. If Spartacus thought he was so easily turned, so easily distracted, then why had he ordered him back.

"Trust me Spart, I won't be fooled by him, I'm not about to lower my guard around him"

Moving throughout the doorway, Spartacus place a warm hand on his shoulder. "I knew I could count on you brother" 

Agron watched Spartacus retreating back as he made his way down the corridor, the red lights overhead flickering slightly as he passed.

Closing the door, argon rested his head on the cool metal, breathing deep, the smell of blood and Roses thick in the air. The smell seemed to envelope him, ensuring his senses. It was thicker and richer now the door was closed. It comforted him.

'Finally, I thought they'd never fucking leave" a scratchy voice drawled behind him.

 

 

Agron turned round. Large brown eyes met startled green ones. The vampire remained prone on the desk, the metal spikes keeping him pinned to the table. Blood covered his naked body, marring the olive perfection of his skin. Underneath the blood He looked completely healed, if still a little pale. The Blood bag attached to his arm was empty.

If anyone had been made more perfectly formed Agron had yet to meet them. As he continued to greedily absorb the sight of him, a memory of the boy in the souk flashed through his mind. Agron shook his head as if to dislodge the vision of Dark golden skin and curling black hair. Strange to think of him yet again. It had been years, since he had lost sight of him,the boy becoming no more than the occasional fleeting memory, a stray thought. Now in the space of 1 hour he had thought of him twice. He supposed the Leech a the boy shared a likeness. The same skin tone and hair colour. Although the height was wrong they had the same slender build……..  
Shaking his head he dismissed the crazy turn of his thoughts. He need to concentrate on what had to be done. 

The vampire didn't say anything else, he simply continued to look at Agron with those large golden orbs, that seemed to brand his soul. For someone covered in his own blood, stark bullock naked and strapped to a surgical steel table post vivisection, he seemed remarkably calm.

Pushing himself away from the door, eyes still locked with the leech, Agron slowly made his way towards him. He stopped part way by a electronic pad on the wall and hit several buttons in quick succession. with an ominous clunking, the locks slid home, the large green light over the door flicked to red and the numerous monitors around the wall sputtered then turned off. Nasirs eyes flicked to the dead monitors then quickly back to where Agron stood . They were now completely alone. No monitors capturing what was happening, behind the locked door. Agron continued to prowl forward until he was within touching distance, then stopped.

 

 

Nasir was at the mercy of the the hunter and he knew it. Crixus obviously hadn't been to get him yet and gods knew if he would. The bastard hated him almost as much as he hated the Brotherhood. Nasir knew couldn't rely on him. He had to escape and something told him that Agron would be his best chance of a way out. He had heard every cut throat remark hurled by Spartacus. Gods, but that one had changed. He was pretty sure that Spartacus didn't think Nasir had been aware of him, but you could never mistake the stench of self righteous indignation that rolled of the burnt hunter. He'd come back for that stupid fuck another time. Now that he knew he was still alive, he would repay the favor by telling a certain acquaintance about it. Fuck the God's, but seeing that confrontation would be fun!

The German in front of him? Well , he would make sure to plunge him into a very special hell. One that included his still beating heart being shoved down his fucking throat as he died. But only after he had seen his friends die in ways he had not yet imagined. Nasirs favorite past time was Inventing new tortures. His eye fell on the clamped off bag of poison swaying gently above him. Hell, he had even used Wendigo poison a time or two, and Dissection of live enemies was a personal favorite. Now he knew exactly how painful it was, he would make sure to employ it more often in the future. But first he had to make sure he still had a future. So snarling and bitching was out for now. When he was free of these god dam bonds he could visit a hell the likes of which hadn't been seen this side of the crusades. 

His eye fell on the clamped off bag of poison swaying gently above him. Hell, he had even used Wendigo poison a time or two, and Dissection of live enemies was a personal favorite. Now he knew exactly how painful it was, he would make sure to employ it more often in the future. But first he had to make sure he still had a future.

"Well this wasn't exactly what I had in mind back at the bar" Nasir chanced a weak grin. His face pale, large brown eyes wary. His gaze wiped clean of his usual cocky bravado. 

 

Agron countenance remained devoid of emotion as he raked his gaze over the naked body before him. Feeling somewhat exposed, which was unusual in itself, Nasir automatically tried to curl in on himself. The slight action pulled sharply on the metal spikes still impaling him through his shoulders and ankles, the skin having grown around them when his body had healed. Eyes moved up to his shoulder and a surprisingly gentle finger stroked where newly pink skin met cold metal. The touch was so light as to be almost imperceptible. Gasping from the unexpected electricity in that touch, Nasir tried to wriggle to get somewhat comfortable. If the dumb German was gonna stand there and gaze at him all day then he wanted to be able to at least feel his butt which was presently half way to being dead and the whole way to being asleep. A massive improvement on the agony he had been feeling earlier, but still not particularly comfortable. 

The slight movement stretched Nasir's wounds further, only serving to draw the Hunters eyes downwards. Agron gritted his teeth, a muscle visibly spasming in his strong jaw, the only movement betraying any emotion. 

Great, not only was Nasir, naked, vulnerable and virtually helpless, but now he was getting unmistakably aroused. His eyes automatically fell to the hunters crotch, where denim was stretched tight, and if he wasn't mistaken Agron had either brought along a banana as a tasty mid torture snack or he was finding himself in a similar situation.

The Hunter's face was impassive as he continued to watch ever twitch and pulse as Nasir's thick member started to throb. The weight of his stare had Nasir's, already depleted, blood supply rushing south. If he had thought his previous reaction to the large German was out of the normal, this was verging into the realms of the ridiculous. However, he couldn't deny the pounding desire he felt whenever he was near to him. 

Nasir swallowed feeling oddly vulnerable as Agrons eyes were automatically drawn down to his still growing erection. The large throbbing length began to curl up towards his stomach, precum beginning to leak from the bulbous tip.

Attempting to roll his eyes down his body, Nasir raised one eyebrow and attempted what he hoped was a sultry smile.  
"Fancy helping me deal with this?" 

Agrons face remained stoic even as his eyes seared Nasir.

"No?" Nasir questioned. Blowing out a breath, he continued. "Let me up and I can deal with it myself" he drawled. 

He attempted his most charming smile, which was a difficult feat given he was still impaled on metal spikes,

"Let me up……….. I'll even let you watch….."

Agrons eyes flicked up clashing with the Vampires. What ever his mixed emotions were in regards the Vampire, he had to admit he was the strangest one he had ever met. A heady mix of vulnerability and lethal sexual awareness. He had seen it from across the bar, again when he had pushed him up against the wall in the ally, and now here, as he was strapped down on a table covered in his own blood. Resilience didn't begin to encompass all he was.

"And if I do what will you do for me"

Nasir pretended to think for a moment, biting his lip and looking up at Agron through his lashes in what he hoped was an alluring way. Having normally been the sexual aggressor, playing the damsel in distress wasn't a role that came naturally for him. But if thats what it took…….

Agrons facade cracked, one eyebrow raising, as the leech bit down on an enticingly full lower lip, his small fang indenting the plump flesh. Flesh that Agron wouldn't mind biting kisses on. Desire welled up hot and fast, making his already pounding heart, quicken to dangerous levels. 

He had to hand it to the vampire, not many would be able to feign nonchalance so well after being through what he had the past few hours, mortal and immortal alike. In fact Agron rather thought it took a special kind of brave to make sexily suggestive comments post dissection, whilst still strapped to an operating table. you actually had to admire the nerve.

 

 

'No'. Agron ruthlessly tampered down the betraying threads of concern and admiration stealing through his heart. This was the creature that had ripped his brother from him. He was something less than an animal. But, as he stood over the vampire, he couldn't quell his bodies reaction to him. The creature inflamed his senses even as everything he was disgusted him. And he could never forget Duro. This was the vile hell spawned Demon that had taken his brother from him. Bile rose quick in his throat, self loathing roiling through him as he quashed his bodies reaction to the Vampire, focusing instead on image of Duro's mutilated body, forever seared into his consciousness, fanning the flames of his hate.

"I'll only be too glad to help you with these"

Grabbing hold of a spike, Agron pulled it out in one harsh wrench, bone and flesh giving way with a sickening crunch. No sooner was the spike was out than the flesh began to heal. Nasir gritted his teeth. The pain was unimaginable. However he could bear this. The stupid hunter was about to free him. God hunters were stupid fucks. How the hell had they not been wiped out already. Although he had to admit if the hunter was feeling anything as gut wrenchingly strong as he was right now, then it was kind of understandable. If he wasn't quite so thoroughly evil he might have second thoughts about slaughtering him. 

Never had Nasir been so grateful for the fact that he was pretty. if got him his freedom he would bow down and kiss the hunters feet, which were huge like the rest of him…..after he had severed them from his body, that is. He might make them into slippers, a bit of kid skin lining, they could be very roomy!

Nasir's lips curled as the feeling started to come back into his quickly healing arm. 

"Thank you" Nasir reached his free arm out to where Agron remained hot and hard. His own erection, having wilted as the spike was pulled out, sprang back to life. Cupping his palm, he slowly stroked the Denim covered bulge. Gods he was big all over. Nasir swallowed, feeling blood heat his cheeks, as lust teased his senses. Maybe he wouldn't kill him right away…….The door was locked, there was no reason they couldn't have some fun before the dismemberment began.

Agron looked down into the large molten gold eyes. Even though he knew the vampire was trying to manipulate him, he saw a flicker of something in those wide orbs. Fear, hope and lust mingled with an emotion he couldn't define. He felt his stomach heave. Not because of what the vampire had done, but because of what he was about to do. Staring at the hopeful look on the vampires face, he forced a smile, when all he wanted to do was rip his own heart out, anything to stop him from what he was about to do. With a pain every bit as intense as he felt after his brother death, he raised the spike.

Nasir looked up at the hunter poised over him, the point of the metal spike, glinting wickedly Sharpe in the bright halogen lights. 

Agron first saw realization dawn, then anger contort the golden perfection of the Vampires face. With new resolve, he hefted the spike higher......  
"My pleasure" he sneered, as he slammed the spike back down into the center of the vampires chest.


End file.
